Page 1 of Enticing the Devil

Chapter One

August 1820

Redthorne Manor

Buckinghamshire, England

Lady Anne Humphries leaned closer to her subject. Concentration tugged at her brow as she studied the intricate petal formation that gave the bee balm flower its distinctive look.

It was not yet noon and most of the other guests attending the Earl and Countess of Harte’s country house party were still keeping London hours, which suited her perfectly. She’d come out to the estate’s extensive garden in search of solitude and had found a lovely spot tucked into a quiet little corner where even the gardeners passed by without noticing her presence.

It was there that she’d discovered a butterfly garden with red and purple bee balm, several varieties of coneflower, geraniums, and lush buddleia bushes. After spreading her shawl across the grass to protect her pale blue frock, she’d arranged herself to begin rendering the vibrant summer blooms in watercolor.

Painting was one of the few things—perhaps the only thing—in her life that brought her true contentment. Growing up an only child with a mother who’d died in childbirth, a father who’d visited his child once or twice a year, and an army of servants who’d treated her with a sort of distant kindness, she’d often suffered from bouts of melancholia. At times in her youth, she’d wondered if she even truly existed if there was no one around to know her. The act of studying a subject—discovering what made it unique and beautiful—in order to render its image on canvas always seemed like a sort of communion. For a person who lived so much of her life in relative solitude and internal reflection, painting became a way for Anne to feel connected to something beyond herself.

She had no idea how much time had passed while she’d been engrossed in her beloved pastime when her concentration was abruptly interrupted by a low baritone voice.

“I thought I made my position clear to you last evening.”

The man’s tone was rough and forbidding, causing Lady Anne to freeze mid-brushstroke. It sounded like he spoke from beyond the stone wall behind her which separated this section of the garden from a walking path beyond. The speaker could have no idea she was there, but for a split second, she thought the man was addressing her.

“There’s no need to feign false propriety with me.” The reply came in a woman’s voice, pouty and suggestive. “I’ve noticed you looking at me. Trust me, I know what men like you want.”

Lady Anne held her breath through the heavy pause that followed those words.

“Men like me?”

There was a painfully harsh edge in the man’s tone. He sounded quite angry.

His companion didn’t seem to notice as she practically purred her response. “Mm-hmm. Men who possess a more earthy nature than the insipid gentlemen of London. Men with needs that are less civilized.”

Anne’s cheeks burned at the shockingly intimate nature of the conversation. In a near panic, she began to collect her art supplies, tucking her paints and brushes into the custom wooden box before setting aside her painting to carefully yet quickly dismantle her small easel—all while trying to move in utter silence.

The only thing that could make her unwitting eavesdropping worse was if the two people on the other side of the wall somehow discovered her presence.

As she stood to swipe up her shawl, movement drew her attention down the stone path toward the house where a man was striding intently into the garden.

Lady Anne recognized him instantly.

She’d met Lord Mayhew during her debut season three years ago. Eldest son of a duke, he’d been at the top of her father’s list of prospective suitors and had been one of the few Anne hadn’t found objectionable in some way. Mild-mannered and openly kind, if a bit shy and socially tentative, he’d always had a polite word for her when they’d happened to encounter each other throughout the season. Unfortunately, nothing had ever developed between them as he’d had his eye on the lovely and popular Miss Breckenridge from the very first ball. The couple had married soon after the close of the season.

As Lord Mayhew drew closer, Lady Anne couldn’t help but notice the strain in his usually good-natured features. The man was clearly upset about something.

Something on which she seriously did not have time to speculate considering the man behind the wall was once again speaking in a voice that had gone dangerously low.

“I won’t say this again, my lady, so listen well. I don’t now—nor will I ever—have the slightest desire to bed you.”

The woman laughed, a distinctive twinkling sound that was suddenly, distressingly familiar. “We don’t need a bed, Mr. Thomas. And you can’t fool me with your hostile glares and forbidding scowls. I know you want me. All men want me.”

Goodness gracious!

Lady Anne suddenly knew exactly whose private conversation she’d been inadvertently listening in on. Just as the stark realization hit her, she heard something that disturbed her even more. A short grunt of surprise followed by the unmistakable sound of what could only be a very passionate kiss!

Frozen in shock, she stared with encroaching horror as Lord Mayhew continued straight toward the gate that would take him to the footpath where he would undoubtedly get a shocking view of his beloved wife kissing another man.

Her insides twisted with the implications of what was about to happen. The poor man would be utterly devastated. His love and devotion to his wife were well known. Even if they weren’t, Lord Mayhew would be honor-bound to challenge the other man.

Though she wasn’t an active player by any sense of the word, she suddenly found herself dead center in a potential scandal with dreadful consequences. Her mind flew through her options in rapid succession. She had to act fast or not at all.

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